A/N: Okay look I rarely have a beta and this has just been sitting in my documents for literal years. I couldn't get anyone to tell me whether it was trash or not and I finally thought eh, why not share this hot sappy mess with all of you.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine!
A Hug is The Best Cure of All
Amanda knew that it was coming.
From the moment her little boy was born, she knew. She understood that one day he would no longer laugh in delight at the buzz of her giddy affection. He was a S'chn T'gai; a son of Sarek, and they had agreed to raise him in the Vulcan way.
That didn't mean she would miss all the little quirks that made him human; that made him hers too.
So she savored it as much as she could. Spock's early years had been bombarded with affection. Every moment Sarek turned his back he was in her arms, his soft skin beneath her caring lips, delicate fingers held in hers, soaking up as much love as she could give.
She knew that he would need it for later, when he was too big to smother in kisses, too big to hold, too Vulcan to endure such illogical displays of emotions.
The first time he shied away from her it broke her heart. She'd smiled for him of course; waved away the hurt. It was not his fault. He did not mean to hurt her. It was only logical that he start to imitate the society he would one day contribute too. She had not realized it would begin so early. She thought four was much too young. She wanted more time, but it seemed as if her time was up.
That night she cried herself to sleep. It was a bitter cry, filled with the loss of all the privileges of motherhood that would be denied her. Sarek hadn't slept well either, but she'd been too exhausted, too overcome with emotion to even attempt to explain her grief, or reassure him of her eventual well-being.
She'd tried to catch herself from then on; to catch her fingers before they tried to tickle her baby, to subdue her joy at his first encounter with I-Chaya, to keep her arms tucked firmly into her chest and away from his frame when he tripped and skinned a knee.
Unfortunately, Amanda was not as fast a learner as her little genius. By the time she'd learned to stay her natural reactions her heart had been broken a hundred times by his rejection. Although, she maintained a content appearance for him. He would never know how much the denial of her pampering hurt.
He was nine the next time she felt his little arms surround her. So surprised by the gesture she'd frozen in the middle of her sob; too afraid to move, too afraid to turn around and return the embrace for fear that it would push him away again. So she did the only thing she could do, she resumed her pitiful bout of crying. This time not out of grief, but a relief so tangible she tasted it in the back of her throat.
As soon as she quieted the small arms disappeared, and when she managed to turn around she only caught the tail end of his little robes as they billowed through the door and out of sight. She'd been so content that she'd curled herself on the floor in the exact spot where he had stood behind her and drifted off into a blissful sleep.
To say Sarek had been alarmed at her unconscious state in the middle of their hallway would have been an understatement. He had insisted that a medic come to look her over before he had been satisfied with her illogical explanation for why she had knowingly decided that the middle of the floor was a good place for a nap.
So disturbed was he by her strange behavior that it was only after a meld that he seemed to be satisfied with her physical and mental health. She hadn't been keen to share the moment with him. It was hers. An understanding between her and her son that helped to bridge the necessary gap that had been created in order for him to become a functional member of Vulcan society.
Amanda did not know if Sarek could ever understand, if he could see how much the gesture meant to her; but he said nothing to Spock of the incident and never brought the topic up again and for that Amanda was so very grateful.
It seemed that Spock followed his father's lead and never mentioned his breach of control. She did not know what compelled him to embrace her. She could not know that one day he had caught her gathering I-Chaya to her chest for the lack of another warm embrace, that he had called the animal to him after she had gone inside to wash and make him lunch and wrapped tentative arms around the creature in the same manner that she had, heart lightened as he caught her lingering scent.
It became an unspoken agreement between him and I-Chaya, this unusual form of affection, a welcomed reprieve from the weight of things that had to be kept hidden inside.
The first time he'd come home with a split lip and a green cheek it had taken everything in her not to crush him to her chest, to shield him from the bigotry of others. She'd yelled at Sarek in her anger and hurt. Later, when both father and son were deep in meditation she'd slipped into his room and returned the precious embrace that he'd bestowed on her months ago.
She felt when her intrusive jarring of his person finally brought him out of meditation but was pleased when he stayed where he was. Wishing she could rock away his fears as she'd rocked him as an infant she pressed a quick kiss to the back of his neck before releasing him and sweeping from his room just as quietly as she had entered.
Sarek had been delayed again. It was not to be unexpected, but she found the news brought her into a deep depression that she could not pull herself from. Spock was occupied with his studies and often Amanda was alone. She'd opted to stay behind with Spock because she was afraid for him, afraid to leave him on a planet full of Vulcan's without her. Sarek had told her such fear was illogical as Vulcans were not a violent people, but she had insisted. He was only 12 after all. Amanda didn't regret her decision, but she found it harder to talk herself out of bed more and more every day.
The night of the call that informed her of her husband's delay she'd found strong little arms encircling her frame. She felt the tension drain from her shoulders and could not stop a few tears from falling; but they dried quickly in the warmth of her son's affection. Her depression was severely lessened the next morning when she woke with her arms around her son's sehlat, though she was rather confused by its presence, as the animal never willingly opted to sleep with anyone who was not Spock. It was surprisingly easy to rise from her bed that morning, but not before she crushed the animal in a hug that she somehow knew would be delivered promptly to her son.
He'd just passed his Kahs'wan. She knew that he was happy, could see accomplishment shine through his eyes, pride in his father's. The hallway was currently empty and she had yet to congratulate him. The hug was quick, the squeeze tight and then gone as she stepped back. Sarek returned, confused as to why his wife had uttered congratulations to their son with his back turned.
She was angry. Furious. Sarek and all his logic could take a long walk off a steep cliff. The knife hit the cutting board in a ferocious staccato as she prepared dinner. She was so consumed by her ire that she started at the arms that wrapped around her. She raised her knife, on the verge of demanding Sarek remove his arms before she did it for him when she realized whose arms they were. Her hand fell and the fight drained from her. The embrace was quick but the calming effect was lasting. When Sarek finally entered the kitchen for dinner, with an appropriate wary eye, he was surprised to find his wife so composed. He looked to his son who was beginning to set the table for an explanation but found none.
Spock was leaving for the transport that would take him to Earth and the Starfleet program. His father did not see him off, refusing to speak to him. He said goodbye to his mother and picked up his bag to leave the house. He heard quick steps as he pulled the door open before he felt a familiar set of arms wrap around him and trap him against a now, much smaller frame. He closed his eyes at the feeling, almost startled to realize the dawning truth that "home" was not the house, or the desert wilderness he loved to explore, or the planet that he'd grown up on. "Home" was in his mother's arms, and while he'd miss everything else he was leaving behind, he had a feeling that it would be this strange and wholly unorthodox emotional display that he would miss most. He let her hold him for an entirely unreasonable amount of time, soaking up the heaps of affection she always bombarded him with. Somehow he knew he would need it for the journey ahead.
When he felt her raise to her toes and tenderly kiss the back of his neck he knew his time was up and braised himself to stand on his own two feet as she let him go. He wondered if she knew just how much of him she carried in her embrace. He did not look back as he exited the house. He did not have to; he could still feel her little arms around him long after he'd left the atmosphere.
Sarek was sitting in the garden when she found him. He was so still she almost thought he was meditating, but she just caught the uneven movement of his shoulders, the result of a sigh. It had been two years since Spock had left home. She knew what he was feeling, had experienced it herself, but he would not be comforted in this matter. Where she clung in her hurt, he pushed away. She knew he missed their son; saw how his eyes would stray to the table where Spock had so often sat, engrossed in learning something fascinating on his pad. One day Sarek would be able to forgive, both Spock and himself. But that day was not today. Today he was a grieving father. Even after decades of marriage she sometimes found herself at a loss. How did one comfort a Vulcan who refused to be comforted?
Sarek had heard her enter the garden and stop, no doubt contemplating whether or not she should approach him. He hoped she did not. He was in no state to converse and for all that Spock took after him it was Amanda that he so often saw when he looked into his son's eyes, and he did not currently wish to see Spock reflected in hers. However, his desire was disregarded, as after a brief pause the small feet continued to come closer.
He closed his eyes in a brief moment to compose himself and started at the arms that slipped around him, eyes opening to watch the delicate fingers lock together on his chest. He could feel her cheek gently settle atop his head and suddenly he was reminded of an image he'd taken from her mind years ago of Spock doing something similar to her. His heart filled with longing at the memory of his son and he could not find it in him to pull away from her. He relaxed against her chest and closed his eyes, relenting to the intrusive comfort of his wife and finding himself grateful for the rare moment of reprieve.
The meeting is over and Spock lingers in the ready room with the excuse of finishing his report. Not an untruth as he does need to sign the completed form before sending it off, but a deception none-the-less, because what he really required was just a moment alone.
The Enterprise has been on its five year mission for approximately three months. It's been 5 months since his mother's death. Today is- would have been- her birthday. He had always found the celebration of one's birth an illogical tradition, but had made it a point to call his mother on her birthday every year since he'd left home.
There would be no call this year. Strange, how inconsequential parts of one's life can suddenly take on considerable importance.
The arms that slip around him nearly startle him into motion before he can register that the smooth brown appendages belong to Nyota. They have talked about inappropriate displays of affection in public and have agreed to keep such actions private. Furthermore, he does require such comfort. He is in control of his emotions.
He goes to tell her this but freezes at the feeling of soft lips against the back of his neck.
All at once he remembers the many occasions in which him and his mother had conveyed their affection for each other in this manner. The affection seeping into him from Nyota seems to have the same shape and feel as his mother's and it is all he can do to stand there as he struggles to reign in an even more inappropriate response.
The embrace doesn't last long and soon she is pulling away and he forces himself not to follow her warmth. She leaves without a word and he closes his eyes against the memories that continue to assault him. He knows it is illogical to feel both comforted and sorrowful by such an unwarranted display of affection, and yet he cannot stop the feeling that grows in him until he lifts his shoulders and head back into their proper position.
He does not question where the calm sense of strength and endurance comes from and strolls back onto the bridge, eyes briefly cutting to Nyota in silent acknowledgement. The shift is long, purposely so as he finds it easier to focus and control his thoughts when his brain is otherwise occupied. As a result, he is fully expecting Nyota to already be in bed, if not asleep when he enters his quarters.
Instead he finds her huddled on the floor in the middle of the room and crying into her knees. She jumps up when he enters the room, seeming surprised to see him, though he knows that she knows when his shift ended. Before he can inquire as to her tears she spins around and begins to wipe her face.
"Sorry." she whispers softly, but he only registers her peripherally because his mind has taken him back to another human woman that he had found crying in the middle of the floor when he was nine.
His feet move towards her before he can decide on a less emotional response and in three strides she is wrapped in his arms. The tears are unexpected and he clenches his teeth together to prevent himself from making more noise than the heavy breathing he is doing into her hair.
He has surprised her. He can tell from where his hands touch her arms and from the hesitant way she lifts hers to settle over his.
"Spock?" she asks, affection and concern seeping into him. He can offer no explanation but the truth.
"I used to hold my mother like this, when she was sad." he says softly.
"Okay." her response was watery with emotion and he could say nothing about the moisture dripping onto his arms as he was leaving quite a bit of his own moisture in her hair and on her neck.
He should let her go. It was late and they both had early shifts tomorrow. He held her tighter.
"Today would have been my mother's 57th birthday." he informed her, as if such information was an adequate explanation for his behavior.
"I know." She breathed, interlocking her fingers with his.
Her knowledge of his mother's birthday surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have. She had paid him an unexpected visit during her fourth year at the Academy during the annual phone call so she was aware of the date. Still, he was surprised that she had remembered.
"Thank you." he whispered. An illogical and imprecise conveyance of his gratitude for her.
She led him to bed then, where she gently undressed him and pulled him down beside her. His desire to meld with her was strong, and soon they were perusing some of the most precious memories he had of his mother. More than once his emotions threatened to overtake him, but Nyota was always there, infusing them with penetrating care.
His eyes snapped open at the sound of the alarm and he silenced it quickly. He sat up slowly, taking stock of his mental defense. Before the destruction of Vulcan he found it adequate to meditate for a short while at night, just before he slept. After the loss of his home he discovered it prudent to not only increase the amount of time he spent in his nightly meditations but to implement a brief period of focus in the morning as well.
However, as he pulled his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up he found it unnecessary to brace for the day. Unexpected, since he had missed his essential meditation period nearly eight hours ago.
He heard Nyota shift behind him and regretted the need for the alarm. He was usually awake half an hour before it chimed but he had slept soundly. Her shift didn't start for another three hours and he found it regrettable whenever his morning routine deprived her of sleep.
He could tell from the shift of the covers that she was awake and soon felt one hand slip around his torso while the other wrapped around his collarbone. He could feel her intake air stir the hairs at the back of his head before a warm cheek rested against his spine.
He closed his eyes at her very blatant message, felt throughout his entire frame and gently traced the fingers resting over his heart to convey his own message back. It was a rare moment of contentment and worth the subsequent ten seconds of tardiness.
Spock stood patiently, waiting for Dr. McCoy to finish up with a local boy who'd scraped all the skin off of his knee while trying to stop himself from falling out of a tree. While slightly grating on the ears it was rather fascinating how long the boy could cry. He'd been wailing when his friends had brought him hobbling into the temporary medical tent just moments before Spock himself. He'd wailed as he waited for the doctor to finish with a previous patient. He'd wailed as the doctor had quickly fixed his wound with a dermal regenerated and had continued to do so until his mother came rushing inside and scooped him up.
"About time." Dr. McCoy grumbled before turning towards him. "Well?! What is it you arctic elf?"
Spock held out his arms, indicating what Nyota had described as hives, as a result of brushing up against a local plant that only seems to be toxic to himself. His eyes stayed focused on the boy though, noting his reduction in volume that deescalated at an impressive rate until the mother set him down and he went sprinting back out of the tent and right back to the tree he'd fallen out of.
The fix was relatively simple and after a hypo of antihistamines and a good covering of anti inflammatory spray he was ready to depart, but could not do so without inquiring about the boy's strange behavior.
"What? Hasn't anyone told you?" McCoy states with a wide grin. "Why, a hug is the best cure of all!"
Spock went to refute such an illogical statement with the overwhelming scientific data that proved otherwise but faltered at the thought of his mother's hugs and that of Nyota's. He elected not to respond and turned to walk out of sickbay leaving Dr. McCoy to believe that his statement was unworthy of refutation.
In truth, he began to think that perhaps, on this one issue, the doctor was correct.
~Fin
***Title taken from the Irish folk song "We all Need a Hug" ***
Okay so this story came to me one day as I was thinking about the similarities between Vulcan culture and Japanese culture and specifically how they respond to the affectionate display of hugging. Which (if dramas and animes are to be believed) is to stand there, specifically if it's a boy hugging a girl because that's a HUGE display of affection over there. And then I thought about that turbolift scene with Spock and Nyota which was just a huge case in point for me. And I started to think about him and his mom and how she definitely hugs him, regardless how illogical. In fact she does a lot of supposedly taboo things like touch his face and hands. So then I started to think what it must have been like for him as a child ya know? And how that was a thing he probably really missed after she died and then I was like but ooooh he has Nyota and what are the chances she does something his mother used to do and he just loses it. So this fic was born. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!